


For a Moment I Forget to Worry

by apostated



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chubby Inquisitor, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, OTP Feels, Plus-Size Inquisitor, Plus-Sized Inquisitor, Romantic Fluff, cullen and cooking, gimme some BODY OPTIONS bioware ffs, what could go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 09:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostated/pseuds/apostated
Summary: “I haven’t celebrated my name-day since I was taken to the Circle,” she told him, her voice cutting through his thoughts and reminding him precisely of just how badly he’d buggered this.  He felt his stomach clench with guilt.  She pulled away to look him in the face, cupping his cheek and stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.  “But thank you.  For trying.  It’s still a nice surprise.”





	For a Moment I Forget to Worry

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! Just a quick little drabble that wouldn't leave me alone! I've been replaying Inquisition to get inspo for my MGiT story, and I started a new playthrough with my new Inquisitor, Katya. If you like this, feel free to leave kudos and comment! If you'd like me to add another chapter where they're snuggly and cute and just obnoxiously adorbs, drop me a comment and I might just do it! IDK about you guys, but plus-size Inquisitors need more love x

This plan had gone horribly, horribly wrong.Cullen stood in the middle of Skyhold’s immense kitchen, which was now filled with smoke, coughing as he tried to clear enough of it just to be able to _breathe_.He hadn’t remembered the recipe for his mother’s cake being this difficult in the past.He bent over the counter, flour settling onto the elbows of his tunic and buried his head in his hands.Maker’s _breath_ , all he’d wanted was to do _something_ for her.A surprise, to take some of the tension away from her shoulders and ease the lines of worry around her eyes.But everything that could have gone wrong _had_.The dense cake was simple, just as his upbringing had been, but delicious, and he knew she had a love for the little frilly things that Josephine had imported from a particular shop in Val Royeaux.But he’d wanted to share this piece of himself with her, a taste of his home, his childhood.It felt like this was a turning stone for them, that something bigger than just a cake hinged on this turning out well.He’d written Mia for the instructions and ingredients, hoping to match what he had in memory with what his sister had to make sure it was absolutely _perfect_.That part had been simple enough.It was the couriers with this missive and that notice and those requisitions and these requests that had him forgetting what he was doing approximately ten seconds after starting, to the point where.Well. 

 

Anyone with eyes could see that the results were…less than ideal.He groaned and dug his fingers into his hair.His head was pounding both from withdrawals and from agitation.He’d told her to meet him in the kitchens at sunset, and while he had no windows to aid him in marking the time, his heart was hammering with enough anxiety that he knew she’d be there any moment and things were, simply put, a bloody disaster.Sure enough, it was barely two heartbeats before the door to the kitchen creaked open.

 

“Cullen?” Katya called out, then coughed as the cloud of smoke from the burnt and ruined cake hit her. 

 

“Andraste preserve me,” he sighed, pushing himself off of the counter and turning to face her with all of the air of a man being sent to his death.

 

To her credit, she did not laugh.She did, however, have to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning as she left the door open behind her.His eyes followed the way her full lips trembled as she fought a smile, crossing over the kitchen to regard the cake with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms, her cinnamon-colored eyes dancing with mirth.An embarrassed heat rose up his neck, his ears, and his cheeks.He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

 

“Happy, ah…happy name-day,” he finished lamely.“It…was supposed to be a surprise.For you.”

 

She let out a small good-natured snort and shook her head at him before she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head against his chest.She was as cool as she ever was against his too-warm flesh, the contrast delicious to the stifling heat from the oven.He felt some of his nerves melt away as she pressed herself to him and he wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the softness of her thick, full curves against his body. 

 

“I haven’t celebrated my name-day since I was taken to the Circle,” she told him, her voice cutting through his thoughts and reminding him precisely of just how badly he’d buggered this.He felt his stomach clench with guilt.She pulled away to look him in the face, cupping his cheek and stroking his cheekbone with her thumb.“But thank you.For trying.It’s still a nice surprise.”

 

She stood on tiptoe to capture his lips with hers in a brief, chaste kiss.“Even if it’s too bad that the cook is going to absolutely _kill_ you.You were such a good commander too.Pity.”

 

He snorted but smiled at her all the same, some of the crushing weight of disappointment that everything had not gone according to plan beginning to ease.How she always knew what to say, what to do, to stop him feeling sorry for himself, he’d never know.

 

“Andraste’s _tits_ , Cullen, this place is a mess.”

 

She idly dragged her finger through some of the flour covering the surface of the countertop and examined it, before she suddenly tapped him on the nose, laughing.He knew he must look ridiculous but Andraste help him, he didn’t care.She was laughing and smiling for the first proper time in _weeks._ He would have paraded naked through the streets of Val Royeaux if it meant he could hear that beautiful, wonderful, _perfect_ laugh. 

 

He reached out for her and bent down to take her lips with his own, his kiss hot and hungry, capturing her laugh on his tongue.Her hands went up to tangle in his hair and he moaned as she scraped her nails across his scalp.She tasted like honeyed wine and frost, and he wanted to drink her in until he was drunk off the taste of her.Her magic called to the lyrium he had not yet managed to purge from his veins and he felt like his entire _body_ was alive with the need to taste her magic.He wanted to _devour_ her, mind, body, and soul.What was she _doing_ to him?To his heart?He backed her up until her lush backside was pressed against the countertop, eliciting a small noise of protest against his mouth.Nipping playfully at her bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough so that it earned him a delicious little _yip_ of surprise, he smirked against her lips, pleased with himself.He hoisted her legs up around his waist and lifted her up onto the counter, an empty milk jug rolling to the floor, his knee parting her thighs. 

 

“Not here,” she hummed against his lips.He wanted to ask her _why not,_ even if he already knew the answer — the smell of burnt cake surrounded them, there was flour _everywhere_ , anyone could walk in at any moment…But the part of him that was incapable of rational thought was telling him to say to hell the consequences.He traced the line of her pulse, taking her earlobe between his teeth, his hands working to free her hair from its tight braid so he could run his fingers through it.She was beautiful, and his, and Maker, he loved her so much…

 

“Cullen,” she whined, and it was enough to somewhat bring him to his senses.She was right.Not here.This wasn’t…he wanted to…not here…she deserved…

 

A groan slipped from his mouth into hers, his hand moving from her hair to the base of her spine to hold her steady against him.Her deft fingers, calloused from so many years of wielding her staff, slipped under his tunic, splaying across his bare skin.He felt the pull of the Veil, the almost sickly-sweet smell of it, his templar senses still sharp despite his best efforts to separate himself from that life, and he felt the cold erupt from her fingers to spread across his burning skin.He gasped as her nails dug into the waistband of his trousers; her hands were _cold as ice_.His erection was pressed up against her and he wanted nothing more than to rip off her clothes, let those frigid, frost-tipped fingers trail over every single inch of him while he warmed her with his own white-hot touch. _You should be afraid,_ the part of him that he warred with every single bloody day whispered darkly in the back of his mind. _She would never hurt you_ , the part completely and irrevocably _hers_ snapped back. 

 

“ _Cullen,_ ” Kat pulled away from him with some reluctance and he blinked like a man blinded by sunlight after sitting in a dark room.Maker, it was hard to think with those hands of hers still lingering on his skin and her hair tickling the back of his hand.She looked up at him with wide eyes.Her pupils were blown, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair a half-up mess, and Andraste help them, there was flour _everywhere_.He was breathing hard, trying to ignore the burning need blazing through him at the sight of her beatific, round face flushed with want and hunger and _so much tenderness_.

 

“Maker,” he panted.He had to step away from her, or he would never stop and they would never leave.A shaking hand ran through his mussed up hair.His heart was beating a mad tattoo against his chest, he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing her for the rest of eternity, but this was not the place, as much as he wanted to, as much as he was _aching_ take her here and now.If she so much as _looked down_ , his desire was on display for the whole of fucking Skyhold to see.

 

She reached up to shake the rest of her hair loose, and the long strands tumbled down her shoulders, almost to her lap.Maker, she was so…how she could love someone like him, he could never know.She slid off the counter, some of his favorite parts of her bouncing pleasantly as she landed back on her feet.He felt somewhat ashamed as he stood there, ogling the way her blouse had slipped down off her left shoulder to allow the top of her breast to peek out.Was he some untested greenhorn who could not control himself in front of a beautiful woman?How she could walk after _that_ when his own legs felt like he were a newborn colt, he couldn’t fathom, but she gestured to the door with a raised eyebrow and another of those gentle smiles.He turned to follow her, and laughed. 

 

“What?” 

 

“You’ve got…that is to say…flour…”He tried not to stare; Maker-knows, he tried so hard not to stare.But her plump arse was _covered_ in white flour, the leather turned nearly grey in patches from where she’d been wriggling underneath him.

 

She gave him a quizzical look before comprehension dawned on her features and she let out a loud bark of amusement.

 

“I’ve got flour on my arse, haven’t I.”


End file.
